FREDERICK POLLACK _________________________ Maestro They laughed when I sat down to play. But my opening arpeggio broke a string and several octaves and they stopped. The development unleashed my Scriabinesque color-and-scent-organ effect, plus touch: ectoplasmic frotteurs and lap-dancers assaulted gown and tux. A certain fortissimo progression confronted them with the Irreducible; other capitalized nouns transcended taste itself. Then I hammered them with subtlety, till by the end they were lost somewhere wider and better aerated than the usual opium den.
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